


Party In A Forest (Where's Laura?)

by suchfun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aromantic Laura Hale, Asexual Laura Hale, Complicated Relationships, Deputy Laura Hale, Enemies to Lovers, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, POV Outsider, Sibling Bonding, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchfun/pseuds/suchfun
Summary: Beacon Hills is experiencing a heatwave. Derek finally comes home. Laura has to go to a wedding. Stiles has an inconvenient crush. And then everything crashes together, and Laura wishes she could just go back to bed.Alas, Laura Hale never gets what she wants.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Laura Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Party In A Forest (Where's Laura?)

**Author's Note:**

> Posting for [Laura Hale Appreciation Week 2020](https://laurahale-appreciation.tumblr.com), Day 7: Dealer's Choice. I'm late, but I hope it's still okay! 
> 
> Title from a song by The Wombats. (I spent hours looking for a title and came back to the first one I thought of. Why is that always how it goes?)

Laura can't remember the last time she had a worse day at work.

She enjoys being a deputy, usually. It can be stressful, it can be tedious, it can be rewarding. It can be dangerous, although in a place like Beacon County that's a rare occurrence. Still, on a daily basis, depending on what comes up, she can be grateful for the opportunity to help someone in one moment, and then in the next be holding back frustrated tears because something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.

Technically, nothing went terribly, horribly wrong today. No-one died. No-one was even injured. It was simply a dull, slow drip of seemingly-minor circumstances that, when all added together, resulted in a mounting weariness that she can now feel right down to her bones.

Firstly, the Sheriff was pissed off because she accidentally told Stiles a small, tiny, insignificant piece of information about a case. And maybe that was her fault, because she knows what Stiles is like—aka a devious asshole who never should have been allowed to become an investigator in the first place—but also, was it _really_ her fault? The Sheriff definitely seems to think so, and so punished her with hours of paperwork. 

And yes, maybe she was technically behind on her paperwork anyway. But there's nothing worse than being stuck behind a desk in the middle of a July heatwave with only a desk fan when almost everyone else is out on patrol in lovely air conditioned vehicles. The Sheriff sent her a photo of himself eating an ice cream sundae for lunch, and she couldn't even complain to Stiles about it because if she'd told Stiles _that_ as well, she'd be in even _more_ trouble. The Sheriff knew it, and she knew it, and he knew that she knew, and she knew that he knew that she knew, and it was _torture_.

Scratch that, the real torture was the fact that she had no-one to talk to _all day_. The only other people around for most of the day were Parrish, who recently solved a big drugs case and seemed to think that gave him licence to enter into an uncharacteristic smug-and-obnoxious phase, and Haigh, who it's best to avoid at all costs anyway, but especially when he's in the middle of a nasty divorce. With them as the only options, she was so fucking _bored_ and her shift crawled by _so slowly_ she thought she'd be stuck at her desk literally _forever_. She kept catching herself staring longingly at the desk next to her, which belongs to Tara, aka her partner and her good friend and the person who always makes work bearable, even on the worst days. But Tara is on holiday. And _also_ sending Laura photos of all the delicious foods.

Laura's lunch consisted of a hot, soggy sandwich and a hot, flat soda.

Then, when she was finally finished for the day, clocking out before the Sheriff made it back to the station so she didn't have to endure his Disappointed Face anymore, she'd got into the Camaro to find that the _fucking_ power window motors had apparently failed. _Again_. Which is a _huge_ fucking deal, because the AC is _also_ broken. So she'd driven home, windows up, swearing and yelling to herself, only barely keeping her brain from exploding out of her ears and only barely able to see the road through the sweat sluicing down her face.

So. Yeah. Absolutely not an ideal day. 

Laura is now more than ready to abandon any of the tenuous attachments she has to this mortal plane and let herself separate into molecules and drift away into the ether, at one with the elements, never to be seen of or heard from again. Barring that, all she wants to do is stumble inside, collapse on the couch, turn the AC on, turn TV on to whatever—probably a show about renovating a house, because it's always a show about renovating a house—and fall asleep on her face.

Alas, Laura Hale never gets what she wants, and just as she's about to shove her key in the lock, she hears a noise from inside her apartment. Which should be impossible, because she lives alone and she is currently _outside_ her apartment. 

She freezes, frowning, listening, hand reaching for the gun still strapped to her hip—

Something crashes to the floor inside, and she immediately relaxes, the adrenaline dissipating just as quickly as it built up. Chaos and cussing usually means one thing: Stiles has let himself in. It used to piss her off, but now she's grateful for it. On shitty days like today, it's really nice to be able to come home to someone. 

"Hey Poodle," she calls, pushing inside and kicking off her shoes.

"Uh, hey," he yells back, sounding strangely unsure for someone who's usually quite happy to just barge into her place any time he feels like it. He's probably in the kitchen—she has direct sight lines to the rest of her apartment from the front door, and there's no sign of him. "So, guess who's—"

There's another clatter, a yelp from Stiles, and then a hushed, hissing rebuke.

Laura drops her bag.

That's— it sounds like… That scolding, scornful cadence, it sounds like… But it can't be. She's just being— Why would he turn up now, anyway, there's no—

And then there's the unmistakable sound of Stiles being slapped across the back of the head, and Laura _knows_.

"Derek," she breathes. Then, louder, projected further, "Derek?"

There's a pause. Another thwapping sound. 

"Hey Laura," her brother finally says, and Laura's fatigue melts away as she hauls ass, skidding around the corner into the kitchen. Her eyes alight on Stiles first, leaning against the sink, head tilting towards the fridge. She follows his gaze, and it feels like it takes both forever and no time at all for Derek to appear from behind the open fridge door, popping up with an uncomfortable little half-smile-and-wave.

Laura stares.

He looks so different. He looks the same. He looks tired. He looks... huge.

"You're huge," she says. She can see Stiles nodding vigorously out of the corner of her eye.

Derek looks a little sheepish. "I joined a gym."

"Did you join it or live in it?" Laura blurts, before shaking her head, because that's hardly what's important. "Fuck that, who cares, come here." She holds out her arms, waggles her fingers, and Derek's lip quirk becomes a genuine smile as he crosses the kitchen and yanks her into his arms, wrapping her up and spinning her around.

"It's like being hit by a linebacker," she wheezes out, but squeezes him closer all the same, ignoring the pain as he accidentally knocks her knees into the counter.

She can't believe he's here. She doesn't know how long it's been since she last saw him, she had to stop keeping track for the sake of her own mental health, but it's been fucking _years_ with little more than a yearly birthday card and the occasional video call. She's missed Derek for so long now, felt that hollow ache, that it's just become a part of her everyday life. A sense of loss not necessarily overwhelming, not compared to other losses she's experienced, but always there. A background buzzing that has slowly dulled into the occasional niggling feeling whenever she sees something that reminds her of him. 

It's not that dissimilar to what she feels about their mom, but it is much more complicated.

Finally, Derek puts her down, steadying her with hands on her shoulders, and she finally gets to see his face.

"There are those eyes," she murmurs, reaching up to poke the bridge of his nose.

He goes a little cross-eyed following her finger. "I do have eyes."

Laura glares at him. "You know what I mean." Their mom's eyes. Central heterochromia, framed with thick, long eyelashes. Laura had always been jealous that he had pretty eyes and she didn't. She takes after their dad, whose eyes had been a murky grey-blue, with straight, stubby lashes. Derek used to boast about it, fully utilising that typical ability that a sibling has of knowing and exploiting your worst insecurities. 

Now, he just looks away, body tensing. He extricates himself from their embrace and steps back, edging along the counter, uncomfortable and impassive, and this Derek, this Derek right here… This Derek is much more familiar. 

There's a delicate cough from behind her, and Laura finally remembers Stiles, who's still standing at the sink, looking like he can't figure out whether to feel heartwarmed or awkward.

He indicates towards the door. "So, I'm gonna go," he says, wiping his hands on his hands on his khakis and giving a double thumbs up. "It was _so great_ to see you, Derek. I've really enjoyed getting both verbally and mildly physically abused by you."

Derek rolls his eyes and turns back to the—mostly empty—fridge. 

Laura wonders what she interrupted when she arrived, before deciding that she really doesn't care. Stiles hardly needs her help to defend himself. "Dinner on Saturday night," she promises him, pulling him into a one-armed hug as he heads for the front door.

"Lasagne?" he says hopefully.

"Better be," Derek says gruffly. He and Stiles exchange a brief look, one singular moment of solidarity, before Stiles nods once more, darts in to kiss her on the cheek, and slips out.

Laura turns back to Derek. Derek self-consciously stares at her coffee maker.

"I'm glad you're back," Laura says, soft, trying not to spook him again.

He nods. "It's good to see you." 

It's a careful response, slow and measured, and his shoulders are still so tense that they're up somewhere in the vicinity of his ears. He'll definitely bolt if she makes a wrong move now. She hates playing these games, but Derek leaves her with no choice. 

She clears her throat and heads into her bedroom, putting her gun away and changing out of her uniform and into a singlet and shorts. "Are you staying here tonight?" she asks loudly, casually, cool as a cucumber, in no way asking her frustratingly obtuse brother anything more than that. "I'll grab you some sheets and you can take the couch. If you want." When she ducks back out, he's frowning, fingers drumming against his crossed arms.

"Can't I just use the guest room? I hardly slept on the way here, I'd kind of like a proper bed," Derek says. 

"Um." She glances over at the closed door. Technically, yes, it is a guest room. But she's never actually had any guests _in_ it. There's the slight possibility that she doesn't even know what's in there anymore, other than that there's definitely no bed. Maybe her old mattress? Mostly she uses the room as storage for stuff she can't be bothered dealing with until 'later', and things have just kind of… accumulated. It would be her aesthetic, if she actually had one. Accumulated miscellaneous. 

Her whole apartment is the same, honestly. She really only got it in the first place because she was desperate to get out of her old apartment—she's pretty sure her roommate was in love with her, and it was a horrible, terrible situation that was slowly eating away at her soul—and it was the first place she was offered. Maybe if she actually liked it she'd try harder, but mostly it's just fine. Average in every way possible. Rent could be more, could be less. Commute to work could be longer, could be shorter. Landlord could be better, could be worse. Size could be smaller, could be bigger. Could be much bigger, honestly, but then she'd have to clean it. 

Which, as she's known from early on in life and has only been exemplified over her thirty-three years on this earth, is not her strong suit anyway.

"Sorry," she says finally, not really sorry and they both know it. "It's not ready. And it's gonna take a lot of work to make it ready, so…" She takes a breath, and in a split second decides to change up her tactics. "I can clean it up for you, but I need a guarantee."

Derek is immediately suspicious. "What kind of guarantee?"

"A guarantee that you'll be staying with me for at least a week."

Derek's eyebrows ascend heavenward. If they could, they'd probably flap off his face and nest somewhere, far away from here. Like where Derek wants to be. "Laura—"

"I'm not upending my whole life for you if you're just going to fuck off in the morning." Laura has far too many abandonment issues by now to just be able to let that go. And he knows it.

"I'm not going to fuck off. Not… straight away," he mutters.

She watches him for a few moments. He's uncomfortable but not particularly evasive, and when she catches his eye he holds her gaze. "Fine," she says, holding out a hand.

He rolls his eyes but shakes it anyway, palm big and warm.

"I forgot how hairy your knuckles are," she says, twisting his hand to the side so she can get a better look, and he wrenches his hand away.

"I'll _never_ forget how hairy your toes are. Amongst other things," he shoots back, and Laura can't help but grin.

"Ah, fourteen year old Derek. So naive. So easily traumatised," she reminisces. They're only one year apart in age, and back in high school they'd shared a bathroom. They'd both Seen Things. The only difference was, Laura was a lot better at compartmentalising, or at least filing things away to either deal with or use as ammunition later. Derek took a little while longer to recover from his pain. "Anyway," she says brightly, doing jazz hands for added effect, "feel free to sleep on the sofa tonight."

Derek moves over and pokes at the seat, testing the springs, then shuffles around and drops down onto it. He flails a little, grabbing onto the arm as he sinks much further into the cushions than he expected to, and turns back to Laura, brows lifting judgmentally.

"Okay, yeah, so it's a death trap. The only one who ever uses it is Stiles, and he has young, supple bones."

"Not _that_ young." Derek bounces up and down a few times, very obviously trying to seem uninterested. If they could both stop doing that they might actually be able to communicate effectively, but Laura isn’t holding her breath. "He stays over a lot, does he? Stiles?"

"Not lately, but usually, yeah. He's never complained." Lie. Stiles always complains, and it's always very entertaining. It's part of his charm, honestly. "Also," she says airily, holding in a grin as she heads to get Derek some sheets and towels, "I asked Stiles not to masturbate in communal areas, but he's not very good with authority so I can't be sure. Maybe just… try to avoid any suspicious-looking stains."

She glances back at him, and the sour look on his face is the most satisfying thing she's seen in a long time.

+

Laura can't sleep. It's past midnight, and Laura should really, _really_ be asleep because she has work in the morning, but.

Derek is in the next room. For the first time in years, he's within kicking distance. And he's _snoring_ , which makes her _actually_ want to kick him, because she'd forgotten just how loud he can be. Her favourite ASMR videos aren't even helping to drown out the noise.

She groans, reaches over to squint at the time again on her phone again, and realises she has a message from Stiles.

[11:42am]  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Laura grins and drags her phone as close as the charging cable will allow, blearily typing out a response.

[12:17am]  
I knowwwwww I have no idea how to handle this, I'm trying hard to play it cool but...

[12:18am]  
YEEEAH historically that is not a skill of urs  
I can't believe he's back  
He just like  
SHOWED UP  
WITHOUT WARNING  
He nearly killed me when I answered the door to your appt btw

[12:18am]  
You WERE a strange man in my apartment.

[12:18am]  
Excuse you I resent that  
He met me over video chat that one time  
And I am incredibly memorable  
That's what all my sexual conquests say anyway  
ALLLLLLLLLLL THE CONQUESTS LAURA  
Well two  
Maybe one  
...srsly tho are you okay????

[12:19am]  
I'm not NOT okay? But also not okay?

[12:19am]  
Shockingly I'm very familiar with that state of being  
If you wanna vent or whatever lmk  
I'm here for you my precious  
MYYYYYY PRECIOUSSSSSSS

Laura rolls her eyes, but she sends a love heart emoji and a gif of Gollum's creepy little face. She tries to fall asleep again, and this time it doesn't take her long at all.

+

When her alarm goes off the next morning, the only reason Laura doesn't roll over and throw her phone at the wall is because her phone is worth approximately way-too-many dollars, and she's not interested in Stiles teasing her about breaking _another_ one. She unplugs it gently instead, slides the alarm off, stuffs it into her tiny pocket and hauls herself up. She shuffles to the bathroom to pee and wash her hands, then back into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker, and when she finds it already hot and coffeed-up, all she can do is blink at it.

"Hi," says an amused voice from behind her, and she turns around to see Derek standing at the counter, two plates of wholegrain toast and eggs steaming in front of him.

She blinks again. "I have eggs? I have bread?" Honestly, she hadn't even realised she had a toaster, but that's something she's actually awake enough to stop herself from admitting.

"Nope." Derek slides a plate towards her, followed by an empty mug. "Picked some up on my way home."

Laura eyes him suspiciously. He sounds _way_ too perky. "Home from where?"

"My run." 

Laura finally notices he's all sweaty and exercisey, and now she's even more suspicious. "Since when did you _run_? Since when were you even a morning person? I don't even think I've seen you get up before nine since high school."

He shrugs. "Lots of things have changed. _Deputy_ Hale."

Laura can’t decide if it’s a dig or an opening. She is not awake enough to tackle either. "Yeah, like, you're cooking now too? I thought we all agreed that was against our better interests?" Laura and Derek's kitchen adventures were once sacred entries in Hale lore, tales that were both feared and revered throughout the lands. But after the seven—literally, seven, never let it be said that Hales are fast learners—failed attempts at gingerbread, an extensive butter fight and a small fire, their mom had begged them to retire before someone got killed.

"It was a tiny fire, and I was twelve," he says dismissively, handing her cutlery and starting to eat his own food.

"Mom had to replace the curtains."

"Mom hated those curtains, she couldn't wait to get rid of them. It was probably all part of her plan."

"She was an exceptional evil genius," Laura says admiringly. "She would've loved Stiles."

Derek pulls a face. "Eh."

Laura tamps down on the flare of anger that sends through her. "It's not like you would know. You've hardly spent any time with him."

"Sometimes I think you spend too much time with him," he says piously, stabbing into a yolk.

"Well I have to spend time with _someone_ , Derek. Don't I. And he's _here_ , he's _always_ been here, and that's more than I can say for anyone else. Isn't it."

Derek glares at her. He grabs his plate, takes it to the couch, and sulkily hacks into the bread with the butter knife like it's Laura's face. She grabs her own plate, noisily shoves the food into the garbage disposal, and stalks back into her room to get ready for work.

Derek is in the shower when she leaves. She hasn't brushed her teeth yet, but she keeps a spare toothbrush in her desk anyway.

+

She stews over Derek's comments about Stiles the whole way to work. The fact that he feels like he can come into _her_ home and cast aspersions on _her_ best friend, is just so— It's so fucking _Derek_. Trust Derek to fucking ditch her when they needed each other most, fuck off for like ten years and then come back and… and _critique_ her life. Like he has any right to pass any comment on her choices anymore. He gave that up way too long ago. The _Stilinskis_ are her family. 

The only real family she's had since she'd come home for Spring Break in her junior year, worrying about how much she hated her classes but excited to see her mom again, and she'd barely made it into the Beacon Hills city limits before being pulled over by the Sheriff. And she'd started to babble promises about getting her tail light fixed but then she'd taken one look at his face and known. _Known_. Because his face was carefully blank. And his tone when he'd said, "Miss Hale, I need you to follow me to the station" had been the gravest tone she's ever heard in her life. 

It's one of only a few things she still remembers, with utmost clarity, about that day. Everything else—driving to the station, being shown to his office, being told her mom was dead—it's all a blur. To this day, she has no memory of how she reacted. She probably cried? She cries over pet insurance commercials, so she definitely cried. She knows that she'd called Derek at NYU, that the Sheriff had left the room to give her privacy, that she'd stumbled clumsily through an explanation… and that then Derek had hung up on her, and then she'd been all alone.

Alone, until the Sheriff's kid had barged into the room. He was still in high school, had buzzed hair, and, she remembers thinking, had the worst timing in the fucking world.

"Oh shit," he'd said, eyes widening when he'd realised his dad wasn't in the room. Then he'd done a double take, realised exactly who she was, and added, "Oh _fuck_." 

He'd hesitated, then fought his way out of his hoodie, tucked it gently around her shoulders, and sat in the seat next to her, upper arms pressed together, until the Sheriff had come back.

Laura had gone home with them that night, stayed in their guest room, unable to do anything else— and she hasn't been alone since. They've been there for her when no-one else has, not even her own _brother_ , so how dare Derek— how _dare_ he—

Laura is _so fucking pissed_ at him. She's so pissed that when she gets to the station she has to sit in the car and do some breathing exercises to calm herself down enough to go inside. When she can finally inhale without a murderous rage inhabiting her entire body, she's technically a few minutes late but that's the last thing she can bring herself to care about. She stomps inside, tripping up the steps and nearly running face-first into the wall, and she takes another few breaths before wrenching open the door. 

The Sheriff is leaning against the front desk, watching her. He's amused but trying not to be, arms crossed, expression stern, eyes laughing. "Deputy Hale," he greets her.

"Not today," she bites out, glaring at him. "Good-natured ribbing is entirely impossible right now." She pauses, then slumps and rubs at her forehead. Suddenly, she's just really fucking tired. "Sorry. I mean. Good morning sir."

The Sheriff's disapproval lifts a little at her obvious distress, and he straightens up, arms going back to his sides. "Everything okay?"

"I think so?" She looks helplessly up at him, at this man who somehow became the only reliable parental figure in her life, and all she can do is shrug. "Derek's back."

He frowns. "Really? When?"

"Last night. Stiles was there, he didn't tell you?"

"Shockingly, that kid can sometimes keep his mouth shut," he says fondly. He eyes her again, taking in her general stressed-and-distressed disposition, before reaching out and pulling her into a hug. 

Usually they don't do this, they try not to be too familiar with each other at work, but she's thankful for it now, and she wraps her arms around him tightly. It ends quickly, but she feels better anyway, despite Parrish giving her kissy lips from over the Sheriff's shoulder. She flips Parrish the bird as she separates from the Sheriff, smiling gratefully at him.

"So Derek's back, huh? Know any details yet?"

"Nothing. He's so— I wanna kill him, but the idea of organising another funeral for a family member is just so unappealing."

"Well, I certainly hope for his sake that he's got a will written up."

"Don't know that, either," she says bitterly. "Why would I even need to know anything about my own brother? According to some people _every_ man should be an island, and maybe there shouldn't be _any_ interconnected land masses at all!"

The Sheriff eyes her dubiously. "Are you gonna be alright to work today?"

"Please don't make me go back home," she says, hoping for once that she sounds as desperate as she feels. "I'll do anything. I'll do my paperwork. I'll do _Parrish's_ paperwork."

"None to do," Parrish says smugly, passing her with a bunch of files in hand. "Mine's always finished on time."

"Okay, perfect little deputy, how long did you last before you fell asleep on that stakeout last week? Two hours? Two and a half?" she calls after him, sweetly, like a gentle caress. Of insults.

Parrish's shoulders stiffen up and he walks away a little faster.

Laura smirks, despite herself.

The Sheriff sighs. "Stop harassing your co-workers and get in there and get to work."

Laura feels a little light filter back into her dark, cruel world. "I don't have to go home?"

"Two provisos. One, if I see any sign your work is compromised, you're outta here, no questions asked. Two, you answer me this." He holds out a hand and Parrish, smirking again and coming back from the other direction, drops an envelope into it. Laura hates him so much right now. "Why is someone sending you fancy wedding invitations through the station? You better not be having your private mail sent here."

Laura frowns. "Hey, you know very well that I have exactly two friends and approximately zero dollars, and therefore have no one and nowhere to receive mail from." Laura takes the envelope and slides her fingernail under the sticky seal. It tears raggedly, the thick expensive paper ripping and shredding as she yanks out the embossed card inside. Her heart sinks as she reads _at the marriage of their daughter Katherine Allison Argent_ , and she groans and drops the invite into the front desk's trash can. "And I am especially not friends with Kate Argent."

The Sheriff narrows his eyes. "Isn't she marrying the mayor's son?" He holds out his hand again and wriggles his fingers, and she groans, retrieving the invitation and handing it over so he can read it himself. "'Demetrius Eggbert Fillipe Greenberg', yeesh, and I thought my kid had it bad." He taps the card against the edge of the desk, and Laura just _knows_ that he's about to either say something really insightful and helpful, or something that will have her cursing his name for the rest of eternity. "So," he starts, "this 'not-friend'. She's marrying the mayor's son. The mayor, who we need to keep on side. The mayor, who is admittedly completely useless, but who is very susceptible to flattery and whose ego turns every business decision into a personal one. The mayor, who will expect a representative from this department to attend his son's wedding, and who will find a way to make our lives very difficult should his daughter-in-law decide she's pissed off with you." He twirls the card once between his fingers before flicking it back across the counter to her. "You're RSVPing yes. Consider it an extracurricular perk."

Laura glares at the invite, because experience has taught her that glaring at the Sheriff will get her nowhere. "Perk is not the word I'd use."

"A distraction, then, from Derek and associated," he waves his hands around in a distinctly Stiles-like fashion, "family business."

"Honestly I'd rather deal with the family drama," she tries, a last-ditch effort, but she knows immediately that it'll fail.

"Deputy Hale," the Sheriff says firmly, and Laura recognises it for what it is: a demand for her attention. She looks up at him, trying to force her face into a more neutral expression. "We deal with criminals every day, and somehow you always manage to spare them your time and your compassion. Is Kate Argent a criminal?"

"Not officially," she mumbles. 

"Is your reluctance, in fact, simply on account of some high school drama from years ago?"

"It was a little more than _drama_ , sir. You know what happened with Derek. What she did."

"I do. And I'm not expecting you to enjoy it, I understand what I'm asking you to do. But I'm hoping that you'll do it anyway, represent Beacon County's finest at this prestigious event, and then maybe I'll remember your worthy sacrifice next time you screw up and tell my kid something you shouldn't. Because there will be a next time."

She doesn't bother trying to argue that she's never divulged anything really important. That's not the point. The point is that he's right, there will be a next time. There always is. It's _Stiles_. "Fine," she mutters.

"Great. Bring me back some cake." He holds her gaze for a few moments before nodding and brushing past her, heading to his office.

Laura sighs, stuffing the envelope into her bag. Sometimes, she wishes it were at all possible for her to dislike her boss.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. This fic. I found my original document for this fic. It's dated 16 February 2013. That's over SEVEN YEARS. I have been working on this fic, on and off, for SEVEN YEARS. It's been through so many changes that it bears little resemblance to what it was when I started, and I can't even find the prompt that spawned it, but. SEVEN. YEARS.
> 
> Every time LHAW week comes around again I think 'this is the year!' and get excited and haul this fic out, and every time I shelve it again bc it's not ready. NO MORE! I don't usually post chapter by chapter but a) I ran out of time to finish the whole thing for the event, and b) I want to put pressure on myself to finish and post. Which I WILL. I am finishing this and I am posting it ALL before the end of 2020, mark my (40k so far) words!! I shall finally be FREE of this fic!!!


End file.
